


The Lost Boys

by orphan_account



Series: Powers'verse [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Murder, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 23:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6929104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Inspector Davis, are you listening to us? Or are we keeping you from some pressing appointment?”</p><p>    “No appointments ma’am, just thinking about the case.”</p><p>    “That’s what we were just discussing, Inspector, as much as we appreciate your dedication, it will no longer be your duty to think about Mrs. Ellis’ case. You are being reassigned.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lost Boys

**Author's Note:**

> This is another creative writing assignment I did. Superpowers. Murder. Sadness. That kinda thing. 
> 
> If you're reading this, I'm sorry.

_ It’s Tuesday again _ . Anthony despised Tuesdays. Normally, people are most frustrated by Mondays, and rightfully so. Mondays are an unholy sacrilege. Tuesdays though, Tuesdays were a special eighth ring of hell for Readers at the Family Safety and Advisement Office. Tuesday, was management day, the day when everyone was called to either report their progress or receive a new case. This meant paperwork and accountability, two things that most Readers, including Anthony, felt they had little time or energy to deal with. It’s bad enough trying to muddle through the low level feedback from their work gloves and all the sad, broken, and neglected case Reads rattling around in your skull without having to sit in a room full of high class management and listen to them hem and haw about your progress on the case. 

Anthony sat in the ungodly stiff chair facing his section’s managers. He had never really bothered to learn their names. Or, maybe he had and then he just purposely forgot, just to spite their pinched faces and arched brows. Readers get pretty good at forgetting things, especially at the FSAO. Those who don’t figure out how to forget early on end up straight jacketed and having biweekly sessions with specialist Empaths. So yeah, Anthony definitely could have purposely misfiled the names of the two harpies sitting in front of him. The one on the left in the appalling beige power suit,  _ that should be her new name, Appalling Beige Power Suit, _ was fixing him with a tight glare.

“Inspector Davis, are you listening to us? Or are we keeping you from some pressing appointment?”

“No appointments ma’am, just thinking about the case.”

> “That’s what we were just discussing, Inspector,” Painfully Bad Haircut chimed in, “As much as we appreciate your dedication, it will no longer be your duty to think about Mrs. Ellis’ case. You are being reassigned.”

Anthony’s brow furrowed and his fists clenched tightly. He breathed in slowly from his nose and out from his mouth. This was such absolute bull. He had spent countless hours on this case, consulting Healers, interviewing thugs and junkies and everyone who knew the abuser, trying so hard to cobble together enough evidence to get a sanctioned Read on Sarah Ellis and her stupid husband, with his heavy fists, class A Walker ability, and an eighth grade education. He was so sure he was gonna pull this case through, get Sarah FSAO protection and a restraining order, have Ryan Ellis  punished for spousal abuse. It just never came together. Every time he came by to interview Ryan, he had just taken off for the nearest slip point, always a sanctioned one, of course, and was planning on being gone for some time. Sarah never rolled on him. Anthony couldn’t tell if it was because she was scared Ryan would hurt her or that he’d stop supplying her the Bliss tabs she relied on. All of his acquaintances were too stupid or drugged out to be any use on the case. A Healer’s testimony alone wasn’t enough to get sanction put through. And now he would never be able to finish it out. Sarah was just going to stay with Ryan and probably end up either beaten to death or Blissed right outta this world. Anthony couldn’t stop it.

“Inspector!”

The nasally whine of Appalling Beige Power Suit’s voice cut through the fog of his thoughts. A throbbing headache was starting to build behind his eyes. The flicker of feedback from the fabric of his gloves had been a grating whine all day. The manager’s voice was not helping things. 

“What?”, he bit out, eyes snapping up in a glare. 

Their ugly stained lips thinned almost in concert. _Do they choreograph that? Practice at home? Oh, wait. Oh no. I just snapped. At my manager. At my review where I  failed to resolve my case._ His eyes widened. This wasn’t going to go well.

“Inspector Davis, if you are having issues regulating your moods, you  _ will  _ be pulled from active duty.” Painfully Bad Haircut picked up the thought.

“And, as you know, any outstanding mood difficulty calls for complete review of the Inspector in question. An Inspector with several unresolved cases, a Class C Reader ability, and recorded history of regulation problems, such as yourself, would likely find themselves discharged from service here at the FSAO. Exactly how well do you imagine you would fare outside the safety of the Office, Inspector Davis?”

Anthony shrinks into his chair, trying to bring his anger under control. Without his job, he would lose his room in the dormitories, the three hot meals per day, his meagre source of income, everything. He would even lose his clothes. The only clothes he actually owned were two pairs of jeans, from when he’d just graduated, which would probably show about two inches of ankle at this point, his blue coat, and a pair of old, cheap gloves with a hole in one of the palms. Everything else was FSAO issued uniforms, down to his underwear.  _ I’d be dead within the month. How spectacular. _

He clears his throat, “I see your point ma’am. Apologies. I’m ready for my next case.”

Their thinly plucked brows arched in unison. 

“See to it you remember in the future, Inspector. If you show irregular signs again, we  _ will  _ report you. As it is, here is your new case file. Do try resolve this one.”

Painfully Bad Haircut pulled a file from her bag and held it out. Anthony’s hand stretched out to take it from her. 

“Am I excused?”

Appalling Beige Power Suit made a sort of sweeping motion with her fingers, as though warding off a fly. Anthony took it as the dismissal it was and stood from the horrible chair, quickly exiting the room. 

His headache refused to leave him, persistently rising in fervor. The harsh fluorescent lights in the hallway stabbed his eyes. The walk to the dormitories wasn’t too long, but every step jarred his whole frame. It felt like his brain was hurling itself against the confines of his skull. He needed rest. The case would keep until the morning, his building feedback migraine would not. 

As he fumbled open his door, pain spiked behind his eyes and he let out a hiss. The world was murky and disjointed. His gloves kept feeding him a Read of what he just did. The case file got tossed on the table. Probably the table. It was definitely a table-ish direction. His shirt was shucked off and tossed away. His shoes were a bit of a struggle, but relinquished their grip on his feet after he sat down on the edge of his bed and pried them off with his hands. As he lay down on the bedspread, belly up, his gloves were the last thing to go.

Anthony pressed his sweaty hands to his own stomach. The feedback loop tapered off and he sighed in relief as his headache eased slightly. Thoughts drifted through his mind, unmoored. He wondered what it might be like to have been born into another class, maybe a Healer. It seemed peaceful. No constant awareness of every touch. No stifling gloves. No past Reads pulling at his attention, asking him to immerse himself in someone else’s timeline. The world constantly screamed at Anthony, flooding him with stories of the past and future until it was all he could do keep himself locked in the present.

Some Readers were known to let it pull them under, ended up lost in the stories, counting all the fingers that had ever touched a vase or some nonsense. Not the low level Readers, of course. Class B’s could only get about five days past out of an Object Read, two weeks on a Human Past Read, and were lucky to get a day or two on a Human Future, and a murky two days at that. Class A’s had to actually _ concentrate  _ to get a Read. Anthony missed the days when he was a kid and Reading was an exciting challenge. Now, as a high level Class C, he walked the line between the everyday Reader’s distraction and a Class D’s almost dream-like existence. 

Class D Readers themselves were rare. It was even more unusual for a Class D to live anything close to a normal life. It wasn’t just Readers either. Class D’s of any ability were known for exceptional difficulty. Healers got too tripped out on the power of being able to talk to someone’s nervous system.They aimed to never leave the Healer’s trance, just wanting to live in someone else’s body, make it perfect. Empaths got overwhelmed by the flood of emotions, the whole world’s struggles and triumphs crashing over them. Walkers slipped too easily, had difficulty remaining tethered to one point. They found themselves walking down the street, thinking about the holes in their shoes and were suddenly in the sneaker aisle. 

Low levels never understood. They were always lusting after the power they could never have. They thought it was glamorous or exciting. They were always complaining about how they were too low on the spectrum to get any of the exciting jobs. Anthony would have traded in a second if he could.

These thoughts followed Anthony into sleep. 

**********

_ Huh. This may actually work.  _ It was a strange feeling for Anthony, success. Normally, these plans of his crash and burn within a day or two of conception. Then, he’d have to pull it together by the skin of his teeth. For some reason this case seemed to actually be going off without a hitch. 

Harvey Lewis’ case had felt special from the jump. Anthony had felt for the kid before even meeting him, just had to read his file. Harvey was marked down for an exceptional Healer’s talent, developing toward a Class C at the very least. His picture showed big brown doe-eyes, dirty blond hair, and almost frighteningly pale skin; crooked teeth in an even more crooked smile. The father was listed as Mark Davis, a no-account, Class B Empath with a mark on his record for dealing narcotics. No mother listed. The school nurse had called in when he had found big purple bruises on the twelve year-old’s arms. They were shaped like hands. It was fairly evident what was going on at home. So Anthony had gone to confirm.

The place was a wreck. Although, you couldn’t expect much else from a North end Housing Block. Peeling wallpaper, dysfunctional appliances, and obvious pest problems were par for the course in this neighborhood. Harvey had answered the door.  _ God, that kid really is skinny. _ Anthony’s stomach cramped in sympathy for the kid’s sharp cheekbones and stick-thin limbs. 

“Dad!”

A much larger frame had lumbered into view. Mark Lewis had the body of a Grizzly and the face of a particularly stupid Bulldog. His small, dark eyes peered out at Anthony. his stomach curdled in distaste.

“Ya want somethin’?”

“Good afternoon Mr. Lewis, I’m Inspector Davis with the FSAO. I’m here to discuss some disturbing reports regarding your son’s health. May I come in?”

“No. Y’can’t. I ain’t interested in some uppity desk jockey tellin’ me how to take care a’ my own kid. Y’can get outta here.”

Anthony glanced down at Harvey. His wide, dark eyes looked between Anthony and his father. He really hated to just turn tail, but there wasn’t a whole lot Anthony could do for the kid if he got slapped with harassment, which was liable to happen if he didn’t leave when Mark  _ asked  _ him to. But that didn’t mean it was the end of it. Anthony addressed Harvey,

“I’ll be back.”

It took longer than he’d have liked, but he’d managed to scrape together enough peripheral evidence that, when combined with Mark’s flat refusal to discuss his son, managed to convince the court to approve him for a Read on Mark. 

That never happened. Not to Anthony. Hell, he’d gotten kicked from his last case because this very thing hadn’t worked. This was unbelievably, stupendously lucky.

Anthony was positively elated as he walked down to the train station, sanction resting comfortably in his coat pocket. This was exactly what he needed. This, right here, was why he chose to join the FSAO in the first place. This one moment, going to snatch a rail thin, doe-eyed kid with boundless potential out of the clutches of his abusive father, was worth every part of the job. It had been so long since he had a win, that Anthony had almost forgotten how good it felt to have something to justify all his sleepless nights, all the people he didn’t help. 

The Northern Block was just as terrible as it was the last time he was here, but Anthony walked above it. He arrived on the third floor and banged on the sixth door from the left. He was itching to tear his gloves off and get the Read done with, collect his evidence, and take Harvey with him to a foster facility. 

The door swung inward.

Anthony was immediately on guard. He cautiously entered the apartment. It was an absolute wreck. Not the typical slum sty he was expecting. The place looked like an angry typhoon had rampaged through. Furniture was flipped, drawers flung out of their slots, papers and utensils and broken glass littered the ground. Anthony’s heart thundered in his ears as panic swept over him in waves.  _ God, Harvey. Tell me you’re not caught up in all this.  _

“Harvey! Mr. Lewis! It’s Inspector Davis, from the FSAO!”

Anthony’s cries spilled out into the air to be met by silence. Until,

“Help!”

Anthony was off like a shot toward the hoarse cry. The bedroom proved to be the source. Mark Lewis lay sprawled across the floor, half his Bulldog face splattered against the stained carpet. The smell of coppery blood and excrement rose up to meet Anthony. He covered his face with his hand and tried to calm his stomach. Gingerly, he stepped around Mark’s immense corpse, skirting the bed. Harvey pressed tightly against the edge of the bed. His eyes were impossibly wide, fixed on Anthony, and he had his knobby knees curled up tight against his chest. Anthony noticed that he was still in his pajamas, they had little cartoon cats on them. The cats leered up at him with comical grins, taunting him. 

“Jesus, kid,” Anthony dropped to his knees beside him,” Are you okay? You’re not hurt are you?”

Harvey gave him a slow shake of his head. Anthony breathed a sigh of relief. Harvey’s thin voice startled him. 

“I tried to Heal him. I really did. I guess I’m just not good enough.”

Anthony followed Harvey’s gaze as it dropped to harvey’s palms. They were covered in blood.  _ Jesus Christ.  _

“Listen, Harvey, I’m gonna call the Office and they’re gonna come and get us. Okay? It’ll all be fine. I’m gonna get you outta here. Can I touch you?”

Anthony got a shaky nod and he leaned in to scoop Harvey into his arms. The kid was so light, it felt like he was made of paper. Anthony pressed his gloved hands to the back of Harvey’s head, shielding his gaze as they skirted the body again, and left to stand out in the hallway. 

Anthony fumbled for his phone, and finally managed to pull it from his pocket. He dialed the emergency line. Harvey was stifling sobs in the shoulder of his coat.

“FSAO Emergency Line, how may I help you?”

“This is Inspector Davis I have a- I guess you could classify this as an escalated situation. I just found a body in my case’s apartment, and I’ve got a traumatized kid here with me. I need Officers here yesterday.”

“Alright Inspector, give me your location and I will make sure to have someone there as quickly as possible.” 

Anthony relayed the information to the woman on the phone and then tossed it aside, turning his focus to Harvey. The kid was curled tightly into him, sobs wracking his frame. Anthony pulled off his gloves and ran a hand through Harvey’s hair, a comforting gesture he vaguely recalled from his own mother. 

The Read flowed through him.

_ He was lying in bed, stomach cramping with hunger. Dad hadn’t brought food home, again and he really wanted to cry, but crying’s not allowed. He was at school, the nurse prodding him about the bruises on his arms, asking questions he couldn’t answer. He was looking up at a skinny, dark haired man in a blue coat and gloves, dad looming behind him, high as a kite. The man, The Inspector, said he’d be back. He wasn’t so sure. He was sore all across his ribs from where dad shoved him into the wall after the Inspector had left. He was lying in bed when the men kicked in the front door, yelling at dad about money and being past due. He was hiding under the bed when he heard the gunshot and was too scared to cry. He heard the men leave and crawled out from under his bed, walking into dad’s room. He placed his hand on dad’s face, the side that wasn’t blown all over the carpet, and tried so hard to force his will into the cells, to tell them to heal up. He huddled behind dad’s bed and waited for life to fix itself. The inspector came back. He pulled him from dad’s room and held him and pet his hand through his hair like how mom used to before she left.  _

Anthony shifted out of Past Read and into a Future Read, hand still stroking over Harvey’s hair. 

_ Men in suits come and take him away from the apartment. The inspector stays with him every step of the way. He’s taken to a room where he washes off the blood and the pee from where he got too scared to hold it, even though he’s twelve and too old for that. The Inspector brings him a plate full of food and tells him to eat slowly. He gets to sleep in a soft bed and still cries himself to sleep. He isn’t sure why. He wakes the next morning and The Inspector- _

The Read cut out. That’s as far as Anthony could see into the future of Harvey Lewis. The kid had fallen quiet on his shoulder. Anthony’s bare palm against his scalp was only sending him mild waves of detail, nothing he couldn’t push back. The sanction still lay heavy in his coat pocket.  _ I suppose this counts as ‘pulling it together by the skin of my teeth’. _

He could hear the sounds of rushed steps coming up the stairs. Those would be the men in suits. 

Then, he looked down and really studied Harvey. He may not have gotten him out in time to avoid this, but, he decided, he could stay with him, this kid, talented, frightened, and so much like himself at that age that it hurt. Yeah, he could do that. It was the least he could do after failing Harvey so badly.  _ I promise, I’ll be there. Every step of the way. _


End file.
